


Find My Way Home

by Meghadoota



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, set somewhere in s14
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 05:19:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15526911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meghadoota/pseuds/Meghadoota
Summary: It takes years and years and an archangel possessing his brother for Sam to realise just what Dean means to him.





	Find My Way Home

He comes back. Sam brings him back – bleeding, a little beaten, a little weak, and a lot furious… but Dean, all Dean. No shimmer of blue in those green eyes, no swish of angelic wings, none of the loss of that _something_ that makes Dean _Dean_.

He clutches his brother close to himself, and if Dean’s arms hold him tighter than ever, if the little hitch in Sam’s voice as he whispers his brother’s name is rather audible, they both say nothing about it. No _I missed you_ or _it’s good to have you back._ That has never been their way. Only Dean hugging him a lot longer than he usually would have, only a whispered _bitch_ and a hoarse _jerk,_ only the one damned tear that manages to slip past the hold Sam’s trying to gather on himself, only Sam holding Dean close, _so_ close that he feels Dean’s heart thudding against his own – or maybe that’s only his imagination… because that’s how it’s felt these past few months without Dean… as if someone had ripped a part of himself away, a part of his heart, his very soul perhaps (and he can almost _hear_ Dean telling him how much of a sappy girl he’s being), only to find that he feels complete now, healed and whole, and home – because home isn’t Baby or the bunker. _Baby_ isn’t Baby without Led Zeppelin and Dean singing along to Styx, his voice louder than even the wind, his smile brighter than even the sunshine, the car speeding and turning at Dean’s littlest touch, as if man and machine were one. Because home isn’t the bunker. Even with Mom and the other Bobby and all the people from the other universe, the bunker hadn’t felt like home these past few months without Dean tinkering around in the kitchen cooking up stuff for Sam, or groaning about having to do research work but still sitting up late with Sam going through ancient tomes, wearing his dead guy robes, wearing that one smile he only ever smiles for Sam, his mere presence in that large bunker setting Sam at ease. Home isn’t four walls and a picket fence or a secret bunker or the Impala. Home is wherever Dean is.

Dean cleans up good, stepping out in his favourite plaid, gushing over how awesome the water pressure in the bunker is and how good it is to be home. Sam follows Dean into his room, even as his brother speaks on about how he’s going to sleep for days on end.

Sam says nothing, though. He only watches Dean. How can he say anything when all he wants to do is drink in the sight of his brother: bow-legged, wet hair all messed up, the shirt he’s donned so familiar and all _Dean,_ none of those old-fashioned suits that Michael had been favoured – he only hopes his brother can decipher his silence like he has done since Sam was a little baby… because he is certain he can never find the words to tell Dean what he means to Sam. Oh, it isn’t like they’ve never been separated before… because they have, separated by tiffs and arguments, by hell and death, by angels and demons… but never like _this,_ for so long, with someone else wearing Dean, with Michael smiling Dean’s smile all wrong, combing his hair all wrong, speaking all wrong, even as Sam could feel his brother within that familiar body, imagine him struggling and thrashing against Michael’s hold on him, imagine him screaming for Sammy, for his brother to come and get him – it isn’t something Sam can ever put into words, to tell Dean what these past months have felt like, to tell him how he’s been an idiot for taking _so_ long to figure out just what Dean means to him… more than just a brother, more than just family, more than anything and everything… hope and happiness and soul and life – because this is _it_ for Sam, he knows now. None of that apple-pie life Mom wants him to have, not even what Dean once wanted for him – a wife and rugrats and living to be fat and bald and chugging down Viagra, not that life with Jess or Amelia that he himself wanted all those years ago. He wants all that with Dean, his entire life with Dean, he wants _all_ of Dean, every which way, however Dean would want it, however Dean would have him – hunting together until they’re old and grey maybe, or just falling off the grid and settling down somewhere, in the woods maybe, or in the mountains, or maybe near a sunny beach, with the sun kissing Dean’s freckles and Sam doing the same—

“Sam?” says Dean, and it takes Sam a long moment to realise that Dean’s watching him… lying down on his bed with the memory foam, propping himself up on an elbow, watching Sam unblinkingly, something glittering in those green eyes – curious and pondering and a sudden realisation.

“Dean—Dean, I—” Sam’s terrified for a moment, frightened that Dean has figured it out, all that he feels for Dean.

“Sammy,” says Dean. It’s only a word, only one little word, but Sam knows Dean knows what he feels, all that he wants to say.

“Come here,” Dean says, scooting over to one side of the bed, Sam’s legs trembling with each step he takes towards his brother.

It’s strange, this, lying down next to Dean in his bed, almost like they were kids again, sharing a little motel bed, the welcome warmth of his brother beside him. It’s the same, but still different… because Dean had never cupped his face like this with one rough, familiar hand, because Dean had never pressed his lips to Sam’s like this – warm and soft and so very welcome. Dean pulls back before Sam can do more, but that’s alright… because Sam knows he’ll have years and years of it to come, years with Dean together, in every sense of the word. For now, he’s content to pull Dean closer into himself, feeling Dean’s breath tickle his neck, Dean’s arm draped around him, smelling of shower gel and Sam’s shampoo and that scent that's purely Dean.

Dean is home, with Sam, where he belongs, and for now, that’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Some terrible writing there, but it's been a really, really bad day, and I just needed something to hold on to - what better way than writing some Sam and Dean.  
> Thank you for reading :)


End file.
